


This One Ain't a Cold Case

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [20]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst and Fluff, F/M, FBI Agent toni, FBI agent betty, First Meeting, Happy Ending, Hurt Jughead, bughead - Freeform, detective betty, gang leader jughead, meet cute, pining Jughead, pining betty, serpent leader jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Agent Betty Cooper goes undercover.She falls in love with the suspect.





	This One Ain't a Cold Case

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy!

"Oh yeah," the pink haired woman drawled as Betty walked into the empty bar. "You'll do." 

She walked over to her; bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Agent Topaz?" She guessed, adjusting the sleeve of her pink jumper. The dark skinned woman nodded, nursing a small glass of scotch that she was sipping through a straw. "I'm Agent Cooper, I think I'm supposed to be tak-"

"Taking over, yeah," the woman finished, a sigh in her voice. "Call me Toni," she hopped off the bar stool, "and don't worry about it, I don't take it personally. I just wasn't his type, but  _you,"_ she laughed, extending her hand. "You are definitely his type." 

Betty flushed, shaking her hand and laughing a little in relief. "Betty, and yeah that's what your report said, but how can you be sure? He's never been linked to a woman, has he? And you got so close?" 

Toni shrugged, reaching over for her file. "He's never been linked to a woman, but he's definitely had a few flings." She perused through the pages, and Betty took the time to examine her. She looked so different from the field photo that Betty had been sent a few weeks ago; that woman had been armed with tightly braided hair and a professionally striking profile. This woman, with her long pink hair and leather jacket, and very short skirt seemed like a stranger compared to the one Betty had tried to get to know through the pages. Toni's report had been exceedingly well written, and she was clearly talented, and Betty was predisposed to like her; being one of the few other women on the team. "Here," she held out a photo for Betty, and the taller girl examined it carefully. 

Forsythe was leaning back in a chair, a girl on his knee and a grin on his face. The girl was smiling too; wide and bright and they looked so normal Betty could hardly believe it. He didn't look like a serial killer or a gang leader. He looked like a normal guy with an easy posture and a pleasing jawline. She caught herself lingering, so moved to focus on the female in the picture. She was a brunette with long limbs and Betty couldn't spot the resemblance. She turned to look at Toni who'd been watching her with a knowing expression. 

"It's the smile. He's a sucker for girl-next-door types with a friendly smile. You've got it in spades." She brought her hair to lie over one shoulder; a little awkwardly and Betty could tell that she still wasn't used to the long locks. "You won't have to spend anytime in the make up department at all. In fact, I don't think you should change the look." She gestured to Betty's outfit. "Pastels and politeness, you seem to practically embody it. It's like you were made for this." She grimaced at her own fingernails as she reached back for her scotch. They were long and red talons, and completely inappropriate for field work. "Do you see what they did to me? I look fierce, but it's completely ridiculous. And the tattoo hurt like a bitch and I've got it  _forever."_

"It wasn't for nothing though," Betty assuaged quickly, taking in White Wyrm. She'd be spending a lot more time here if she was going to be taking over. "You got so close to him, closer than anyone from the outside has before. Your notes are incredible, I've been..." she blushed, "I've been really geeking out over them, to be honest. I feel like I'm not gonna do nearly a good a job as you. I mean he took you to a gang meeting. He took you to negotiation talks with Malachai! That's- I mean, wow," she shook her head, and the end of her ponytail brushed her cheeks. 

Toni smirked, pleased and a little surprised. "Yeah, I guess. I think he likes me. And actually..." she sighed, "I think I like him too. It's why I'm grateful for the transfer. I  _like_ him, Betty. I don't think he's a bad guy, and whether that's because he's playing me, or because I'm too close that I can't see straight anymore, he never did anything sketchier than cut off a statue's head in my company. And even then, I can't say I completely disagree with the statement he was trying to make." 

The blonde nodded, blue eyes sparkling with understanding. "You've become compromised." She surmised, and Toni winced but nodded. 

"Exactly. So I am happy to hand over the reigns." She downed the rest of the amber liquid, and set the glass down carefully. "Well, good luck tonight, Betty, and from here on out. They've set you up with a house on the Northside, right? Got you a fake job and everything?" 

Betty nodded. She'd be the editor of children's stories and live on a lovely street very similar to the one she'd grown up on. With white picket fences and apples trees. The persona had been completed to the finest detail. 

"What's your new name?" 

Betty laughed a little bashfully at that. "I'm keeping the real one, I'm afraid. Just gonna be Betty, I figure it's fairly disarming. Plus, I really don't think I have the acting range to turn around every time someone screams a different name at me." 

Toni nodded, smiling. "It's actually a lot harder than people think. He knew me as Ashley, but I fought real hard to keep Toni. The agency must like you,"

Betty blushed again. "A lot of the Directors know me. My uh..." she curled her fingers into the fabric of her sleeves. "My father was the Black Hood." 

Tonis'e eys widened. "Shit." 

"Yeah, it- it was a long time ago. But they sort of...well, they looked out for me. They inspired me, they made me wanna join the force. They cut me a little more slack than they should probably," she laughed, trying to ease the tension. "But I don't mind." 

The other agent laughed too, and clapped Betty's shoulder. "I look forward to your reports, Cooper. Think me and you are gonna get along just fine." 

Betty internally yippied, and barely resisted the urge to hug her new friend. 

 

The White Wyrm at day was very different at night. The tacky, dated neon sign wasn't the only thing that lit up; a vibrancy approached with dusk that began a hive of activity. A stream of people, young and old began to filter in. Betty watched, lingering in the shadows, her hand mirror poised in front of her face. She blinked in surprise, but couldn't help the small smile of pleasure at the sight of a mother in a tight black jacket and fishnet stockings, lightly scolding her teenage son as they walked in. He was sulking, but following her obediently and she wondered really, what kind of place the Southside of this town was like. Everything she'd heard about Riverdale had been tinted with the eerie edge of mystery and tensions as high as the civil war between the North and the South. It was easy to see the difference, the North was immaculately polished; richly decorated where everyone dressed to impress. The Southside seemed filled with brighter colour, but with scuff marks on every wall and torn jeans and that pesky leather jacket everywhere.

The Serpents, the reason she was here, the biggest gang, the most dangerous gang, run by Forsythe Jones III. He'd taken over after his father, and as she smudged her mascara down her face, and rubbed it into her cheeks, she felt a small fissure of guilt. Fathers were his soft spot, she knew that, had been prepped on it, but fathers were her soft spot too. She rubbed her eyes till they were red, and then tucked her mirror away, checked the time, and sat on the small silver rail of the bike rack and began to cry. 

Exactly two minutes after expected, footsteps crunched along the gravel. 

She made sure not to look up, and kept weeping quietly. 

The footsteps paused, and there was no noise for a moment before a voice nearby startled her. 

"Hey, uh...are you okay?" 

She jumped from her position, surprised at how quiet his feet were, but pleased that it made her reaction look more real. She smiled, a watery, fake thing, and wiped at her cheeks. "I'm fine," she whispered, sniffling hard. "I just- rough night." 

He took a step closer to her, and her breath caught in her throat. He was attractive, handsome in a casual, easy sort of way. His hair flopped in every direction; unruly curls falling into his forehead and ears. It looked different to the picture she'd seen with the girl; now his hair was a dark, dark blue. He wore the leather jacket she recognised, and a pair of beat up shoes. His hands were pressed into his pockets, and as she admired the smooth lining of his face, she realised his eyes too, were scanning her. 

She should be appealing to all the right senses. The modest pale, pink skirt and the hot pink jumper with a ruffled collar. She has a small, silver necklace on over it, with the symbol for hard work hanging as its tiny pendant. Her hair had been touched up by the make up department, just a little blonder, just a little  _purer._ Just a little more strawberry perfect, blonde bombshell, cornfed, homespun girl than she was before. She could see, even in the darkness under the stars, how his pupils dilated at the sight of her. 

She bit back her smile, and pushed down her guilt. 

"I get that," he murmured, one hand out of his pocket to push through his hair. "You uh...Northsider?" 

Betty chewed on the inside of her lip, trying to look as innocent as possible. Here was the clincher. If this went wrong, then they'd need to send in Reggie. Toni had posed as someone who'd just moved to Riverdale, but Betty was posing as someone who'd been born there. She knew the town, theoretically, like the back of her hand. "Yeah, um, up by Evergreen? A-are you?" 

He snorted, looking at her bemusedly. 

She did her best frown. 

His features softened at that, and he offered her a small smile. "No, uh- Southsider. You..." he kicked at the ground with his scuffed shoes. "You weren't raised here?" 

"Parents divorced when I was young," she said with a shrug. "I lived with my Aunt and Uncle over at Seaside. I've just moved back for work." She plucked a tissue out of her sleeve and dabbed her at her dry nose with it. "Sorry, you can..." she pointed to the entrance of the Wyrm. "I just needed a sec. Dad's, you know?" 

She'd caught him. He looked stricken, and took another step towards her. She felt like she was reeling in a fish, and made sure to keep some slack so as not to scare him off. "Yeah, I know," he whispered, "probably more than you think." He turned to puff out a sigh at the night sky. "All just massive douchebags, really." 

She laughed, caught off guard, and it bubbled out of her throat. He looked winded by her smile, and she resisted the urge to stop smiling. He  _was_ clearly into friendly looking girls. Toni had pegged him right. "True enough." She played with the hem of her skirt, pulling it down a little as if she were self-conscious of her legs. "I keep thinking coming back here was a mistake. It's nothing like I remember, and everything seems to fake." 

He seemed enthralled by her; nodding. "This place isn't good for anyone. The Northside-" there was a vicious, angry edge in his tone, that served to remind her of her purpose, "-are full of liars and dogs. They're discriminating against-" he cut himself off, an embarrassed look on his face. "But we don't need to talk about that." He took the final step forward, and offered her his hand. It was slotted into the thready cotton of a fingerless glove. She took it slowly, holding back her shock at how gentle his shake was. "I'm Jughead."

Jughead- right, Toni's notes had mentioned that. Not Forsythe. Never Forsythe. "Jughead?" She asked, quirking her lips, and he grinned at her. 

"Trust me, the real thing is much much worse." 

"Well," she slid down off the bike rack. "I'm Betty,  _Jughead."_

He laughed, eyes crinkling and head tipped back. He didn't seem like a killer. He was her age, and clearly capable of feeling emotions, and didn't exude any weird sort of aura. But then, neither had her dad. "Well, Betty," he said, fondness in his voice, and she internally thanked her mother for her name. Elizabeth was so wholesome, but Betty was dated and unusual; memorable in its cuteness. "Maybe I could buy you a drink," he nodded his head in the direction of the Wyrm. "If you're free." His hand swept through his hair again.

He was nervous, she realised, rather dully. She caught her bottom lip in her teeth again, pleased at the way his eyes followed the movements.  _Leave the slack._ She murmured to herself, before looking away dubiously. "I don't know...maybe I should just go home. I don't want to-"

"You're not." He said earnestly, rocking on his heels. "Not even a bit." 

She smiled shyly, the blush on her cheeks half-real due to the intensity of his emerald stare. "Okay, but only for a while." She fell into easy steps beside him. He was taller than her, but kept his neck bent low to the ground. She'd seen the sign of it in most criminals, and victims; using their ears over their sight. "I don't think I've ever been in here," she said, as he held the door open for her. There was music playing, and smoke in the air. A group of guys were playing pool, and a collection of young adults were eating burgers in the dirty booths in the corner. There was loud conversation near a stage where a beautiful girl with short black hair was dancing. Jughead led her to the bar, and nodded at the tender. No words were exchanged, and two drinks were set before them. They were exceedingly green. Betty lifted up her glass and scrutinised it. "Is this liquid plutonium?" 

Jughead laughed, glass shaking as it hovered before his mouth. "It's sweet. You'll like it." 

Humming, she took a small sip, surprised when she  _did_ like it. She normally hated alcohol, and she imagined that an establishment like this wasn't exactly...her eyes flickered over to the group of teenagers eating burgers. They didn't look  _good._

Jughead, again rather worryingly, seemed to read her thoughts. "Yeah, this place is good for drinks, but if you want something to eat, I definitely recommend Pop's Diner. Best eatery in town." 

Betty had tried Pop's a few times since coming here and beamed. "I love Pops!" She gushed with more enthusiasm than necessary. "His strawberry milkshakes are amazing!"

She preferred chocolate.

But it went with the pink aesthetic, and Jughead looked immeasurably fond. He sipped his drink, and she noted that it wasn't particularly alcoholic. His dad was a drinker, according to the file, and she wondered where he was now. She didn't want to ask, but then wondered if a truly innocent person would worry about asking. And wasn't she supposed to be innocent? "My dad's a controlling douche." She said quietly, as they sat on the bar stools and faced each other. She stirred her drink with her finger. Her nail polish didn't change colour, and she pressed her lips together to hide her smile. She hadn't pegged him as a date-raper. "He sent my sister away, and I'm not sure I'll ever see her again."

Were they lies if they were at some point true? The croaky emotion in her voice was real, because it had one point been real. Of course now, Polly was living happily with her two kids in England. Far away from America and Betty and the memories of their dad. Their mother was with her, and that made the job a lot easier. There was no one to threaten you with if everyone you loved was nowhere near you. Jughead's eyes were soft, and they shone earnestly. "I think we have a lot more in common than you think, and it's freaky." 

She managed a small smile, but let sadness drag down the edges. 

He reached over to touch her hand. 

"Your dad's a douche too, you mean?" 

He half grinned, a little wryly. "I was talking about sisters." He downed his drink, and shook his head in silent agreement with the bar tender, who didn't refill it. "My sister's pretty much my everything. But...well, you haven't been here in a while, and Riverdale's a dangerous place. My dad sent her away when she was a baby, and I...I swear I could have lost it." He shook his head, pushing his knuckles against his teeth. "She's so small, you know, and I try to visit as often as I can, but when I realised that trying to get her back wasn't the way, I just did whatever I could to make sure she was happy." 

Betty wondered why he was lying. Was he onto her? Forsythe Jones didn't have a sister. FP II only had one child; Jughead, and it had always been like that. Maybe he was referencing a non-blood related sister? Or maybe he was trying to let her know that he was onto her. She treaded a little more carefully. "Dads and sisters, huh?" 

He huffed out through his nose, and nodded. "Dads and sisters." He repeated. His eyes caught on something over her shoulder, and she turned around to see two Serpents around their age walk in. One had a neck tattoo and the other stood a few inches shorter. They were both staring right back at Jughead. She tried to place them. The taller one she recognised from the files; Sweet Pea, she thought, but the shorter one she had trouble recalling. He was familiar though, no doubt about it. 

"Are those your friends?" She asked politely. "I could go-"

"Stay," he insisted softly, but his eyes were still over her shoulder. "I can always talk to them later." 

She reached forward to touch the hand that was resting on the bar, and she curled her fingers around it. "I'm serious, Jug, thank you for the drink, but you've already been a Knight for this evening. You can go hang out with your friends." 

He didn't suspect her, that much was obvious in the way his entire body moved to shelter her from the others in the bar. The way his eyes lingered on her lips, and how his hand curled into hers. "Stay," he whispered, breath fanning over her face. "Or..."

"Or..?" She asked, batting her doe-eyes up at him, and smiling a little.

His jaw coloured, and he grinned. "Or we could..."

"Or we could...?" She teased, and he shook his head delightedly, leaning down to capture her lips. 

He tasted of black coffee and sugar, of paper and the unmistakeable tang of motorbike oil. He smelt of shampoo and leather, and his lips were sinfully soft against hers. She moaned a little, pulling away before he could deepen it as if she were shy and innocent. She could feel him groan against her skin. "Betty," he whispered, her name like a caress, "this is a little quick, but-"

"Okay," she nodded, heart pounding in her chest.

He lived at the trailer park; most people in the Southside of town did, and she let her mind wander as they walked along the grass. Sex was part and parcel of the job; she'd been undercover before and she'd be undercover again. She didn't  _have_ to do anything, but it always made it easier and Betty didn't mind. She could detach from it, rather exceptionally, and wondered why on earth she felt a little flustered. Jughead wasn't the first guy she'd been attracted to on a job, but Toni was right. There was something about him, something that she worried if she let herself get too close to, might compromise her. 

As soon as they stumbled inside, his lips were on her, and she gave herself into pleasure. He lavished her neck and hoisted her onto the counter in the kitchen. Her fingers tangled into his hair and she moaned his name.

It was a surprise to her, when she orgasmed. She normally faked it, but his thrusts had been well-aimed, and his fingers sinful. She'd felt it coiling in the pit of her stomach but it had all felt so natural. He'd sucked marks into her neck, and she clawed down his back, and when they fell into his bed together, she was thoroughly sated. All the springs in his mattress were shot, but it felt irresistibly comfortable. He snaked his arms around her and drew her close, and she found herself giggling. She felt as if she were in high school again, in one of her happier moments. "You're a cuddler, Jughead?" 

"Shut up," he teased, muffled by her hair. 

He was out in a matter of seconds.

If he really was a serial killer, shouldn't there be more regard for his general safety? Or was he just that good? That capable? The list of homicides was long, and there were teenagers on that list. Dead  _kids._ She suddenly felt colder in his arms, and she wanted to slip out of them. But his heartbeat was solid and steady, just like hers, and he was warm and languid; soft with sleep. She admired his face in the low light; relaxed and unguarded. He didn't seem like a killer at all. His serpent tattoo peaked out from under the t-shirt he was still wearing, and she traced her fingers feather-light over it. He had it in the same spot that his father did. 

 

She woke up in the morning to cool dawn rays seeping in through the windows, and Jughead still conked out into the sheets beside her. She smiled softly before she caught herself, and took stock. The room was messy but not dirty; clothes and empty rucksacks strewn around. She wondered what to do. The persona that he was attracted to was probably sweet as an angel, and would make coffee and pancakes.

It was with a happy sort of flip that she realised that she  _was_ a coffee and pancakes sort of girl. All those years ago, that's exactly what she would have done. Now she ate a fibre-filled salad and some fizzy water. It was a relief to slip into the role, and she plucked up one of Jughead's t-shirts, shedding her bunched skirt and rumpled shirt for it. They'd barely got naked last night, and she examined herself in the small bathroom mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and washed the smeared make up from her face. She looked soft and homey in all the ways that should appeal to him. His long shirt just covered her underwear, and she padded barefoot to the kitchen, pleased with the long lines of her legs. 

It had everything needed to make pancakes, so she started on them, even finding a long rejected packet of chocolate chips in the back of one of the cupboards. She tipped them into the pan curiously. Why did he have them? A long gone girlfriend? Maybe the one with the smile? Maybe the previous owner? Maybe a joke? As she brewed the coffee she looked around the main living area. It was cleaner than the bedroom, two couches facing each other and a low lying coffee table. 

There was a switchblade on it. 

Innocuous looking and bare for everyone to see, half tucked into its black sheath. 

Stabbing usually meant impotence. 

"That smells  _amazing."_ Came a low voice, just as she was plating up, and she turned to see Jughead stagger into the kitchen. He was clad in his underwear and t-shirt now, one half of his face creased from the pillows. He took a seat at the counter, and banged his hands against the counter playfully. "What're you making me, oh Chef Betty?" 

She laughed, sliding the pancakes towards him, and smothering them in syrup. He moaned, reaching for the fork she'd laid out as she took the seat opposite him. "I didn't think you'd have chocolate chips, but you do," she smiled, putting a little bit of shyness into her smile. "And I made some coffee, if you want?" 

His mouth was full, but he was staring at her adoringly. He worked his jaw to swallow, before shooting her a lazy smile. "You didn't have to do all this, Betty-"

"Please, I like cooking," she said earnestly, reaching to pour them two cups of coffee. He'd tasted of black last night, with sugar, so that's how she made it. She added a fair bit of milk to hers, until it was the colour of caramel. He was half way through his pancakes; devouring them, and she laughed as she slid him the mug. He took a large gulp even though it must have been scolding and sighed contentedly. 

"Just how I like it," he grinned, curling his fingers around it and peeking over the rim at her. "Why do I get the feeling that you're good at everything?" 

Betty shrugged bashfully, spearing a neat piece of pancake and popping it into her mouth. The chocolate had melted into it, and was gooey and tempting on her tongue. "Maybe you have an amazing sense of intuition," she teased, and he laughed. They fell into easy conversation when she noticed the worn hardback peeking out from behind the well-used microwave, and were just finishing off their coffees when there was a loud knock at the door. 

Before Jughead could even get up, it was pushed open, and Betty realised with a sense of alarm that it didn't even have a lock. What kind of gang leader was he? 

"Jones, I fuckin' swear to god," came a deep voice, and Betty stared wide-eyed as Sweet Pea rounded the corner. He was dressed in a plaid shirt and a sleeveless coat; and he was slightly damp from the wet air outside. He paused when he saw her, before rolling his eyes and turning to look at Jughead. "Seriously?" He said, voice hard. "What have I said?" He started marching around the trailer, tugging open blinds and switching on lights. "I said you have to be ready at ten, and it's nine fifty-five and look at you, exactly like I thought." He came to stop at the counter, and snatched Jughead's mug, draining the remains himself, before fixing a look at Betty. "Hi. I don't know you're name, but you have to go, I'm afraid. You can continue whatever this is-" he motioned between them "-at a later date, but lover boy has a go now." 

Jughead let himself be dragged out of the stool but didn't look at all troubled. "Sweet Pea, relax-"

"Oh relax he says," he whispered under his breath, shoving Jughead towards the bedroom. "How can I relax when you stress me out so much? Get changed! We are leaving whether you're in your underwear or not." The wiry boy shot Betty an apologetic look, before stumbling towards the bedroom. Once he was out of sight, Sweet Pea turned to look at her, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Listen sweetheart, I know, he's dreamy, got those lovely eyes, but you really ought to go. Some shit's about to go down and it isn't for someone like you." 

Betty knew what the cool metal of a gun felt like against her fingertips. Knew the rush of power as a bullet left the chamber. "O-oh, well I don't wanna intrude," she stammered, getting up. She tugged at the hem of Jughead's shirt, and Sweet Pea looked away with an exaggerated eye roll. 

"Where does he find them..." he muttered under his breath, before gesturing to the bedroom and Betty darted past him. 

Jughead was already wearing his jeans, and was tugging on a plaid shirt. He smiled at Betty as she reached for her skirt. "I'm sorry about him. He's one of my friends; an annoying idiot, but he is right. I'm really late." 

Betty watched as he slid on his jacket, and she shimmied into her skirt, tucking Jughead's shirt in and picking up her pumps. "Important meeting?" She asked lightly, hauling her hair back into a ponytail. It was bumpy and uneven, but she had to make do for now. She appraised herself in the mirror; it was a walk of shame but it was reasonably presentable. Besides, she didn't actually know any of the people here. 

Jughead snorted, walking across the small room to cup her cheek. "Gang shit you don't wanna know about. Trust me when I tell you that Riverdale isn't the cute place you remember. 'Town with Pep' now 'Town where things go to die'. Get out whilst you can, Betty." 

"I have a house and a job here," she said easily, leaning into his palm. "I'm not going anywhere. And what I've seen of it so far, it doesn't seem all bad." She was talking about him, but it also made her seem naive and disarming. "Can't get rid of me that fast, I'm afraid." 

He smoothed his thumb over her cheek with a fond smile, before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. "Where do you work, then?" 

"Near the Riverdale Register, I edit children's books." 

His eyes were warm, and he was looking at her as if she were some fairytale heroine. "That makes sense." 

She wondered if he saw an ideal when he looked at her. Wondered if he wanted some sort of way out in a world that didn't exist. She leaned in to kiss him again, and chewed on her bottom lip. "If you want, and you don't have to!, but if you want to um...call or something, we could meet up again, and go for coffee-"

He shushed her with a peck to her cheek, and headed for the door. "You'll be hearing from me, Betty." He promised, saluting her with two fingers. "I can promise you that." 

She listened as the two of them left and sat down on the bed, amazed that she'd been left in his home alone. She spent a few minutes gently perusing his objects, opening drawers and looking around but there was nothing to be found. She was about to leave, wary that they may come back or that any one else may come into this lock-less trailer, when her eyes caught on a laptop buried between the couch cushions. 

_Forsythe is always on his laptop; (a MacBook air 2nd generation 13'' screen) and he is protective about who can see the screen. He types a lot._

That had been one of the first things Toni had noticed in her report, and Betty lifted it onto her lap. The screen lit up once she opened it, and the password box popped up. She had absolutely no idea what it could be, so instead contented herself with scribbling down the name of his wifi connection and set it back where she'd found it. The air was crisp outside, and the trailer was dotted with a few families enjoying the fresh day and getting ready for work, as she began the long walk 'home'. 

 

She'd been given a cubicle in the editing office, and a stack of children's books. Weatherbee had given strict orders for no one to disturb her, so she typed out her field report in peace. She wondered what she looked like from the outside; her hair in its neat ponytail and extra gold, her big blue eyes and pink lipgloss. Her yellow summer dress and matching bumblebee cardigan, with strapped brown heels on her feet. She wondered what life would be like if she was this person. If she really did edit children's stories. The stack beside her was filled with classics as well as a lot of new publications, and she ran her thumb down their spines fondly. 

"I've always thought the hungry, hungry caterpillar really resonated with me," came a cool voice, and she looked up to see Jughead leaning over her cubicle; elbows hooked over the edge. She resisted the urge to shut her laptop, and instead offered a pleased smile. 

"You did practically hoover up those pancakes," she said happily, and he grinned at her. He looked good, though she was beginning to suspect he always did. But now he looked good, but not like a serpent. He was in an oversized, light blue jumper with the arms pushed up to the crook of his elbow. No serpent jacket to be found, but, she supposed, it was rather hot outside for leather. "So you managed to track me down?" 

He grinned, looking around the office. "I know this town, yeah." He said mysteriously. "I have my ways. I thought I'd treat you to Pop's." 

It was nearly time for lunch, and she was pretty sure most of the people on her floor were wary of her; uncertain about the warning that came with disturbing her during her work, so she nodded happily. "Sure! Let me just get my things together." She closed her laptop with relief, and picked up her purse. Her gun was in it, the small hand held pistol, and she covered it with some paper napkins and slid in her keycard, before moving around the cubicle. The sweater he was wearing fell onto baggy, beige shorts and flip-flops. This was his home, she realised with a start, this town. He was comfortable here, and natural here, and completely unabashed. 

"You look beautiful," he said earnestly, offering her his arm. 

She took it, feeling like a lady out of a movie as they headed out into the sunshine. "Has to be an improvement on smudged makeup and tears." She said self-deprecatingly, and he nudged her merrily. 

"Not by much though." 

It had been a few days since she'd seen him, and those days had been spent getting to know where all the cutlery was in her 'house' and finding the shortest route to work. "How was your meeting?" She asked, stretching out her arms so the sun could warm them. Her dress swished around her knees as a cool breeze ruffled the hem, and she smiled. The air smelt of heated flowers and laziness. 

She watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye. His shoulder seemed bruised if the way he was holding himself was any indication, but his skin was unmarred and his smile was easy. "Boring and repetitive." He said, with what sounded like honesty. Betty bit back a smile at the tightness of the answer. It could be true of any type of meeting. 

"What do you do, by the way?" She prodded lightly, skipping over a crack in the pavement and laughing when Jughead mimicked the movement. He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck and she supposed that without hair to protect it, it was being heated by the over-zealous sun. She should get him suncream next time.  _Her character_ should get him suncream next time, she amended in her head. She was mildly annoyed with herself.

"Lots of different things," he offered, and Betty waited for him to elaborate. He was wincing, and she raised her eyebrows: was he going to lie? "To be honest, Betts, it's probably all a bit below board for you." He cocked his head and offered her a small, sad smile. "I don't wanna disappoint."

Something in her heart flipped, and she shook her head. They'd reached a small path, sheltered by foliage that ran along a creek, and walked through it leisurely. Jughead jumped onto a stone in the water, and she laughed as she saw a smell pebbled pathway. She followed suit. "I'm not gonna judge, Jug," she murmured, copying the nickname strain. "Seriously. My dad is...not a good guy, and you can't be as bad as him. So whatever you're doing, I'm not going to judge you for it."

It was exactly the right thing to say, and he offered her a grateful, meaningful look over his shoulder as he hopped to another stepping stone. His arms were out for balance, and his voice was slow. "A few uh...drug runs, to be honest. I'm against it, but there are a lot of people in the Serpents who need supporting and it's the quickest, easiest way to make money."

Betty knew about the drug runs, obviously. The FBI didn't want him for drug runs, they wanted him for murder. "What kind of drugs?" She whispered, a small wobble in her voice. 

He turned to look at the green filled sky. "Weed, mostly."

Betty blinked. That...wasn't right. The Serpents dealt in harder stuff. Weed wouldn't get them the money they needed- but- her brain frizzed a little. If they were selling harder stuff, wouldn't the condition of their homes be better? Jughead was right, there was lots of money to be made with drugs, but the way they lived suggested that they were just shifting...weed. But that didn't make sense, because there was definitely harder, Class A drugs in Riverdale, and if the Serpents weren't selling it, then who- she realised he was waiting for her appraisal, and she smiled softly. "It's gonna be legalised anyway, right?"

He laughed, as if he hadn't expected it of her, and nodded to himself. "A real life lover, aren't you?"

"I'm just glad it isn't harder stuff," she said carefully, "you know, things that can be really dangerous-"

"There's stuff like that in Riverdale, unfortunately," he sighed, voice annoyed and hard. It was the same tone she remembered from when he'd been talking about Northsiders when they'd first met. "The North deals in harder stuff, and they blame it on the South. I'm serious, Betts, if you could see some of the sick freaks these nor-" he cut himself off, eyes going wide and guilty as he looked at her. "Not that  _you_ ar-"

She laughed, taking his hand as he helped her back onto the sidewalk. "Jug, I barely consider myself a Northsider, really. Feel free to bemoan them all you like. It might be therapeutic." 

His green eyes sparkled like the leaves, and his smile was the cool summer breeze. 

Betty swallowed hard. 

A frog croaked as they left the lane and headed to Pops, and it sounded unsure and desolate in her ears.  _Ditto,_ Betty thought to the frog,  _ditto._

_..._

_..._

_..._

"Betty," Reggie murmured, concern thick in his voice. "I really think you should listen to Toni."

Betty turned to glare at her best friend, but the dark skinned girl, who's hair was now back to normal, didn't crack. "Betty." She said, voice firm. "You're compromised." 

"No," she said, for what seemed like the billionth time. "I'm not, I'm fine. I've found out more than anyone ever has, haven't I? Or have I been sending those case files to other people for the past six months? Because it seems to me like I'm the one who told you that Hiram Lodge and Clifford Blossom were the ones dealing hardcore drugs. It seems like  _I'm_ the one who told you that the 'serial killer' here in Riverdale has actually been two people; orchestrate by Hiram!" She was yelling, by the end of it, and she slunk back into her chair at the looks they were giving her. 

Reggie seemed increasingly uncomfortable. "But you don't actually know  _who_ Hiram's using to commit the murders, do you? It could still  be Fo-"

"It isn't Jughead." She said harshly, shaking her head adamantly. "I'm with him nearly all the time, it isn't him." 

"Then who is it?" Toni pushed, and Betty swallowed.

"I have some theories, but I have to prove it. I don't want to seem crazy." 

They shot her two identical looks. 

"Okay, well, I'm not compromised. I'm  _fine."_ She insisted, getting to her feet. "I'm making more headway in this case than either of you, or anyone, ever has. So why not just leave me to it, okay?" 

Reggie nodded slowly, reluctantly, but held up his hand to stop her from leaving. "But Betty, only until the twelve months are up. Then, if we've got no names or headway, I'm telling Weatherbee to pull the plug. Alright? I'm doing this for you." 

Betty consciously relaxed her shoulders, and nodded at them both, striding out. 

The car was waiting for her outside, and dropped her just outside of Riverdale, so she could walk back into town without anyone seeing anything suspicious. She was in her jogging clothes, and had cultivated the lie that she enjoyed hikes. She hated hikes. She preferred staying in and watching Netflix with Jughead, curled under his arm. She preferred making lunch and burning the steaks in front of old quiz shows. She preferred late night dinners in Pop's in a private booth. She hated hikes. 

By the time she made it back to the trailer park, Jughead was in a deep conversation with Cheryl, and Betty beamed, waving. "Hey guys!" She sang, and they both turned to her fondly. 

"Hey, Bee," Jughead murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her hair. "Good hike?"

"Yeah, I went down near Sweetwater. It's so beautiful this time of year." She tiptoed up to kiss the underside of his jaw. Cheryl rolled her eyes fondly. "Hey Cheryl," Betty grinned, "you look beautiful today, as always,"

Cheryl curtseyed neatly, and flicked her striking red hair over her shoulder. "I know. It's good to see you, Betty, Jughead's been keeping you to himself like the hog he is. You're definitely coming over next weekend for another girls night, yes?" 

Betty nodded happily, and Cheryl blew her a kiss.

"Good! Alright then, bye plebes! And Jughead, don't forget what I told you!" 

Jughead snorted, turning towards the trailer with Betty in tow. "How could I forget?" He called sarcastically, as they headed inside. There were a lot of conversations like that. Tail ends that Betty couldn't catch the beginning of. But Betty knew Cheryl, and Cheryl was  _good,_ it didn't matter that her father was running a big drug and murder ring. Daughters weren't their fathers. Reggie's words stuck with her though. Cheryl and Jughead- could they be Hiram's lackys? 

FP was in the kitchen, and he smiled upon seeing them. "Hey, Betty," he grinned, and Betty ducked towards him for a hug.

"Hey, FP!" She grinned, "want some coffee?" 

"Love some," he said easily, going to sling an arm over Jug's shoulders. "Where'd you get a girl like that, huh?" 

Jughead grinned and went to drop himself on the couch. "She fell right out of heaven."

"Damn straight," Betty called teasingly from the kitchen, and the two Jones men laughed. Betty watched them talk quietly on the couch, but busied herself with coffee to offer them privacy. FP had been a pleasant welcome when he'd come back into town; sober. He'd offered Jughead a tremendous amount of help in running the Serpents, and Betty loved seeing all the similarities between them. Before he'd come along, Jughead had seemed so determined to not be anything like him, but now they were slowly and surely restoring their relationship. She'd been jealous, at first, over how it felt to see Jughead have a good father figure in his life again, but then FP had procured a small, elegant bracelet for her birthday. It had the Serpent emblem on it, and he'd said with all of Jughead's nerves and sweetness  _it's uh- you don't need the tattoo to be one of us, Betty. You're family._

She ran her fingers over it, and then poured the coffee. 

As she set them down on the table and cuddled into Jughead's side, he dropped a kiss onto her head and she smiled to find that she loved him.

She was in love with him. It was warm and wonderful and hers and she was happier than she'd been in years. She wasn't the hard, cutting person she'd been when she joined the force; lacking hope and happiness, she was the sunshine child she'd always wanted to be. She smiled at rainbows again, and she could look at her ocean blue eyes in the mirror and not see the man she shared them with. She ate pancakes for breakfast and even edited a few stories for the agency. 

FP sipped his coffee and shook his head wistfully. "You, Betty Cooper, are too good to be true."

Yes, the thought came to her, unbidden. Yes, she was. 

 

She hadn't been able to look at Jughead lately. 

What would she do, when he found out? When he left her? Angry and betrayed and thinking that it was all an act? She loved him, and she hoped he loved her too. She'd have to tell him. She'd have to sit him down and tell him, and yet whenever the moment came around, she'd kiss him instead, and try to live the lie another day. 

So one day, as she sat in the White Wyrm nursing a diet coke, as Jughead talked easily to Fangs about a route down on 14th, she knew something bad would happen. When Sweet Pea burst into the bar, picking a bottle off the counter and smashed it against the side; waving the jagged end at Betty, she wasn't totally surprised. She didn't flinch, but Jughead leapt up, angry and confused. 

"What the hell, Sweet Pea?" He yelled, standing in front of her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Sweet Pea didn't put the bottle down. He was seething. "She's a fucking fed, Jones." 

Fangs turned to look at her, and Betty didn't meet his eyes. She was staring at Jughead's back, trying to memorise the slope of his shoulders. 

"Right, and where'd you hear that?" Jughead scoffed, and Sweet Pea kept his voice even. 

"Ask her."

Jughead turned a little, and now Betty had a full view of the room. Everyone was looking at her. Sweet Pea, who she knew to be the cuddliest, sweetest guy, who made the meanest mashed potatoes, looked like he would kill her. Was he the killer? Was he Hiram's dog? "Betty," Jughead asked, a slow dawning on his face at her lack of answer; at her lack of shock. "Betty, what's he saying?" 

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He was so beautiful. That dark hair and those green eyes and his swept cheeks. 

"See?" Sweet Pea, hissed, lowering his bottle a little when it became apparent that she wasn't going to stand up and pull out a gun. "A fucking fed." His eyes turned to her, and in them she saw pure brown protectiveness for his bestfriend. Not a killer, she decided. He had too much heart. "I went to your house, Betty, because I bought some of your favourite coffee." His voice was sneering, and he looked at her like she made him sick. "You'll never guess who I saw leaving.  _Ashley Jenson,_ only she looked completely different. And she was leaving you a rather thick looking envelope." 

"Ashley?" Jughead whispered, voice broken and eyes wide and dismayed.

Sweet Pea nodded, gaze fixed on Betty. "Her real name's Toni Topaz. She tapped out of the operation about seven months ago, and Betty was prepped on how to woo you. I found all the files at her house; they knew everything about you Jughead. They told her how to dress, how to act, what to say- they knew about your dad-"

Jughead swayed as his knees buckled, and he reached out for the table to steady him. Sweet Pea immediately went to his side, and acted as his aid. "You knew?" He whispered, face still confused. "But Betty, I told you everything ages ago-"

"She thinks you're the Riverdale Strangler." Fangs whispered from opposite her, face accusing and shocked. Betty couldn't bare to look at him, but when she looked at Jughead, his face broke her heart. 

"You think I'm the Riverdale Stranger?" He repeated, and there was a slam as the bar door opened and FP walked in. He took in the scene quickly, and marched towards them. "You think I've killed all those people? You think I've killed kids?" 

"No, I-" Betty choked on her words, and realised that she was crying. She was sobbing. "No, Juggie, I didn't-" She stood up then, and felt a part of her wither as they all stepped away from her; cohesively and as a unit. Fangs stayed put in the booth, and she realised that he'd snatched her purse, and was rifling through it. He eventually just dumped its contents onto the table, and they all watched as the gun clattered to the surface. 

Jughead fell to his knees, and Sweet Pea went down with him. 

"Juggie, please listen to me," Betty whispered, getting to the floor so she could cup his jaw in her face. Sweet Pea shoved her hands away, his own arms wrapped around his buddy. "Please, please, it wasn't fake- I  _love_ you, please-"

"She knows about Hiram." FP cut her off, and she turned to look at him. He'd plucked a piece of paper from the contents on the table; the paper that had Hiram's post code on it from where she'd been tracking it earlier. "Jug, shit," FP hissed, shoving her aside and kneeling before his son. "Where's your laptop?" 

"My laptop..." he repeated dazedly, and FP clamped his hands onto his shoulders. 

"She's  _hacked your laptop,_ Jughead!"

That got him going, and Jughead immediately reared to his feet. He looked down at her as if she were a monster, and raced from the Wyrm, dad close behind him. She stayed where she was, slumped on the dirty floor and didn't even think of going after him. 

She didn't think Sweet Pea would let her. 

 

They hadn't tied her up, which she thought was courteous, merely put her in a back room on a couch with some water. Sweet Pea sat on a chair staring at her; her gun in his hand with the safety off, and one of the older Serpents; Hog Tie she thought, was also in the corner; his eyes never leaving her. 

She wondered what the problem with the laptop had been. It had been hacked months before and all she'd found was a long, beautifully written, half finished novel that Jughead was working on. His search history had been completely normal, and there had been nothing there. The only thing that raised any alarms was the google search for how deep you could cut skin before damaging nerves. The worry bundled into her shoulders, and she didn't even try to talk to Sweet Pea. Everytime he looked at her, disgust and betrayal warred on his face, and she could understand that. 

Her eyes had drifted shut, and she was half asleep when the sound of heels on wood caught her attention.

Cheryl was looking down at her, and just as Betty processed it, there was an almighty smacking sound.

She could registered she'd been slapped when the sting came to her attention. She swallowed and refused a sound of pain to come out. Cheryl's eyes were wet with tears. "You disgusting plebe." She whispered. 

"Cheryl," he managed, lips stinging. "I'm sorry about your dad-"

"You think I care about my dad?" She cried, pressing a hand into her chest. "I know about my dad, you ingrate! He's the devil incarnate and there's nothing I can do about it! Don't offer me your insincere condolences. There's a spot in hell for people like you, right next to my father. You know what this is?" She asked, pulling a velvet box out of her pocket. Betty had a horrible feeling she did. "He loved you." 

"I love him-" Betty sobbed, body racking at the sight of the cut diamond. 

"You don't know what love is.  _You_ don't even exist-"

"Cheryl-"

"The saddest part about it is that even I fell for it," Cheryl scoffed, looking into the distance. Her lips were set in a sullen line of pain, and Betty wanted to die. "Well done, Agent Cooper. Maybe you'll get the FBI employee of the month? Oh wait, no you won't, because Jughead isn't a killer. You've dated him for nearly a year, probably  _fucked_ him to get all the emotional leverage you could, don't you think you could've have noticed he wasn't going out and strangling people?" 

Betty shook her head desperately. "I didn't think he was-"

"Save your lies for someone who cares." Cheryl snapped, wiping a stray tear. "The sight of you repels me." And with that, she was gone. 

Betty cried for a long time, and nearly jerked when a box was pushed into her hands. Sweet Pea was standing there, looking conflicted but angry as he handed her the tissues. She took them gratefully, sniffling, and he sat in the chair slowly. He was still looking at her after she'd blown her nose, and she balled the tissue into her hands. "When did you stop faking?" He asked quietly. He still couldn't quite meet her eyes, but at least he could stomach the sound of her voice. 

"Maybe after a month." She whispered, and he half nodded; thoughts far away. "I'm sorry, Sweet Pea. I'm so sorry-"

"What's your real name?"

She swallowed. "It's Betty. I didn't...I didn't change it."

He let out a small, surprised laugh. It softened his face. "That seems like you." 

"That implies there is a me." She said quietly, looking down at her knees. 

"Oh there's a you alright," he said, rubbing his cheek. "We just haven't met her yet." 

 

Jughead didn't come back until the next day. Betty had been given a ham sandwich and the only time she'd been allowed to be alone was in the bathroom. So when Jughead and FP walked in, she stared up at him desperately. He didn't look as loathing as Cheryl as looked, nor did he looked as conflicted as Sweet Pea. He looked resigned, and there was a small, smug smile tugging at his lips. "Turns out even the FBI can't get through Tall Boy's encryptions," he murmured, and Betty frowned curiously. FP relieved Sweet Pea and told him to go home and get some rest. He took the gun from him and sat down in the chair; pleased. "You think I had something incriminating on my laptop, Betty? There was only one thing I never wanted anyone to find." 

He held out the piece of paper he was holding, and she took it carefully. 

They were coordinates. 

She looked up at him in confusion. "What are these?" 

"Where my sister lives." He said simply, sitting in the free chair. "And contrary to what you've written in your files, I do have a sister. She's ten and she's wonderful and she's in witness protection and that's where she is." He nodded to the paper. "That's the only thing I cared about you finding. I don't want the FBI to have anything to do with her. I don't want them knowing she even exists." 

"But you told me the day we met that you had one." She points out; confused

"I was stupid." He said earnestly. "Stupid and I believed you." 

Betty drew her lip into her mouth, and looked between them both. "Well, what are we going to do now?" 

FP laughed, shaking his head fondly. "The killers you're looking for are Malachai and Penny Peabody. They get money from Hiram every time he needs 'problems' gotten rid of. Go to the FBI, stop them, and leave us alone." 

"Don't come back." Jughead added quickly, and she closed her eyes in pain, but nodded. 

FP walked her out, and squeezed her shoulder once before she left. It wasn't the squeeze of someone who considered her family, nor was it for comfort. It felt like the squeeze of someone bidding her farewell. 

 

Betty manages to keep her promise for eight months. It takes three of those months to catch Malachai and Penny, and it takes three more of those months to hand in her request for leave. It takes one of those months to visit her family in England, and another one getting some real editing experience. So when she breaks her promise, and comes back to Riverdale, she feels like she's hardly been away. It looks the same, and as she moves from the North to the South, she can still see the differences though they aren't as drastic. She's dyed her hair; it's not the pure fake blonde, but it's her natural blonde. With dark, gritty roots and light, whisky ends. She's wearing her favourite, high collared jumper, and one of the shortest skirts she owns. 

No one bats an eye at her as she walks into the parking lot of the White Wyrm. 

She thinks of Reggie, taking her letter with a soft, contented smile, and patting her arm and telling her she'll always be his friend. She thinks of Toni, who had met her at the airport on the flight back from London and hugging her so tight she thought she'd faint. She thinks of Jughead a lot. She wonders if he thinks of her. She thinks of Cheryl, and the ring box. She wonders if Cheryl will ever look at her again. She'd sent her an email a few days ago; with links to the files on Hal Cooper. There's no response yet, but Betty likes to think there will be. As she steps inside, she smiles at the way it looks. It's exactly the same. FP looks up from the pool table where he's playing with Sweet Pea. He has a cigar in his mouth, and a look in his eye that seems to suggest he thought he'd see her again. He juts his finger over his shoulder, towards the bar, and Betty flickers her eyes there and sees the familiar mop of dark hair. She looks back at him to smile, and now Sweet Pea's looking at her too. 

He offers her a half grin, and then turns away.

It's not excellent, but it's a lot better than she dared hope for. 

She makes her way slowly across the bar, and sits on the stool beside him. Jughead looks good. More relaxed. He's in his Serpent jacket, and ripped jeans and looks like he did when she first met him. "Hi," she says quietly, watching as he gestures to the bar tender. "I'm Betty Cooper." 

He doesn't look at her, but the edge of his mouth quirks up in an amused half-tick. "I used to know a Betty Cooper. She was a liar and a heartbreaker." Betty swallows hard, but he continues. "She was probably also the brightest woman I ever met. She even managed to get rid of two murderers in a town where no one else seemed able to do a damn thing." 

"She sounds interesting." Betty says lightly. "She's long gone now though, I think." 

The bar tender places two, bright green drinks in front of them. Betty takes one. "Oh yeah?" Jughead asks, swivelling to look at her. His eyes are greener than she remembered. 

"Yeah." She echoes, nodding a little. her hair hangs down around her shoulders and her serpent bracelet is still on her wrist. "I'm a different Betty Cooper. The real one." 

He takes her hand, wary but eager all the same. "Good to meet you, Betty. I'm Jughead." 

"Nice to meet you, Jughead," she says, swirling her drink. "Is this liquid plutonium?" 

His laughter fills the bar with warmth, and fills her heart with hope. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is obviously way shorter then I'd like, and I've love to make it a much longer multi-chap some day, but I don't have the time for such feats of triumph yet! 
> 
> Comment/prompt/love me whichever you're into! 
> 
> MWAH MWAH X


End file.
